


What He Needs

by FictionPenned



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Hand Kisses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: Wilson swallows his glee and schools his face into innocent surprise. He's rather good at it. His ex-wives always said that he had a remarkable propensity for producing puppy eyes under pressure."Did you check your stupid cat in as my next patient?" House asks, shoving the cat carrier onto Wilson's desk with little regard for the papers that are crinkled underneath its weight.Written for Bulletproof 2021
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	What He Needs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



Wilson has been expecting House. 

He shifted all of the meetings on his calendar into the afternoon in anticipation of the man striding into his office with a full-bodied complaint on his lips and, possibly, a bit of vengeance bubbling up through his pores.

Wilson has learned a few lessons since his early days as House's best friend. Prank wars are not things that should be engaged in lightly. They are bloody battles waged with no holds barred, and it is best to keep his patients firmly out of the way while such things are going on. House has intimidated one too many poor old women in the past. 

At precisely 10:03am, the door to Wilson's office swings open, banging against the rubber stop on the wall as House strides in -- cane in one hand and cat carrier in the other. 

As expected, he's fuming. 

Wilson swallows his glee and schools his face into innocent surprise. He's rather good at it. His ex-wives always said that he had a remarkable propensity for producing puppy eyes under pressure.

"Did you check your stupid cat in as my next patient?" House asks, shoving the cat carrier onto Wilson's desk with little regard for the countless papers and folders that are crinkled underneath its weight.

Wilson planned for this too. He replaced the contents of all his patient files with blank copies of March Madness brackets that he stole from the printer in the break room on the pedeatrics floor. All of his real paperwork is safely stashed in Cuddy's office. Today will not be a repeat of the bucket incident from three years ago.

"She's been limping. And besides, you usually take almost any excuse to avoid your work." Wilson leans back in his chair and adjusts his tie, peering through the bars of the carrier crate to make sure that it is, indeed, still his cat inside. He wouldn't put it past House to do a Freaky Friday style switch.

"I like my work," House corrects, crossing his ankles and shifting the majority of his weight onto his cane. "I just don't like meaningless work. There's a difference." 

"What's more meaningful than a cat? Look at her: she's the picture of innocence." Wilson gestures at the carrier. 

Wilson's lying. He knows he's lying. He loves that cat, but she's an absolute diva. 

She pees on his shoes if he doesn't clean the litter box every five minutes. 

House scoffs. "And the picture of health. This does not look like a sick cat. She looks like she's just been wined and dined at the Ritz."

"I assure you, House, she's been limping." 

She has, that part is true. However, the vet already checked her out and gave her the treatment she needed earlier this morning. Bringing her here was just a fun detour. 

"Have you checked to see if she's being smothered by the attentions of a certain oncologist?" As he speaks, House takes a step forward. He sets the cane aside and leans over the desk, pushing an accusatory finger against the very tip of Wilson's nose. 

Wilson merely blinks. 

It's just like House to attempt to physically wrestle back control of a situation in which he feels outmatched. 

It really is a downright shame that he's not better at it. 

"Really?" Wilson raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. He does not bother to swipe away House's hand. "I had no idea there was a link between smothering and limping in domestic house cats. Do you mind dropping me a link to that research later? I'd love to read it." 

House grumbles a curse under his breath as he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. 

Taking advantage of House's brief lack of focus, Wilson takes the man's hand in his and spreads his bony fingers apart, planting a featherlight kiss on the ticklish skin in the center of his palm. 

House stiffens in surprise. 

For all the time they've spent together over the years, House never seems to be able to accept the gentler moments -- the care, the vulnerability, the generosity that has always been Wilson's strong suits. Wilson is certain that if House had it his way, their relationship would be nothing but monster truck rallies and emotionless sex.

But Wilson also knows that what House wants isn't always what he needs. 

Wilson releases House's hand with a smile and swings his feet up onto the desk, careful not to disturb the cat in her carrier. 

It takes a second for House to sharped his tongue again and regain his former wit.

"Careful, Wilson. Next thing you know, you'll have smothered me to death next."

Wilson laughs -- a warm, bright, full-chested laugh. It's the sort of laugh that wins his colleagues' hearts and his patients' trust. 

"You could use a good smothering. We still on for the Stones tonight?" 

House moves toward the door. Wilson can practically see the gears turning behind the man's bright blue eyes. House is already plotting revenge. 

Bring it on.

"Eight, right?" House asks, more a question meant to dispel the tension of the kiss than to elicit any real answer.

Wilson provides one anyway. 

"Eight sharp. Don't be late this time. I'm not waiting for you." 

House clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and shoots a finger gun and a wink in Wilson's direction before leaving the room. 

To Wilson, it is clear that not only will House be late, but he'll be late on purpose. The thought is enough to coax a small, fond smile from his mouth as he swings his feet off of his desk and gently unlatches the door of the cat carrier to comfort its slightly irritated occupant. 

It's a good thing Wilson gave House a fake time. 

House will be early whether he likes it or not. 


End file.
